


Constancy Amid Chaos

by gloria_scott



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Alternate Universe, Fantasy, M/M, Magic Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:09:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_scott/pseuds/gloria_scott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock talks to trees. Well, one particular tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constancy Amid Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> 221b!fic written for a  [](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**sherlockbbc_fic**](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/) prompt [here](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/5880.html?thread=23135992#t23135992).

Sherlock is restless. He walks until his feet will no longer carry him, then sinks beneath a tree overlooking the Serpentine. He gazes at the night sky through softly swaying branches, recounting the facts of the case thus far, connecting disparate pieces, forging order out of chaos.

 _Brilliant_ , the leaves rustle.

Sherlock warms to the applause of his arboreal audience, and delivers the final resolution of the case – _It was the gardener, of course!_ – with a flourish.

 _Amazing! That was amazing,_ the branches sway and sing.

“Meretricious,” he mutters, leaning back and smiling.

He closes his eyes and sleep enfolds him. The bark of the tree at his back shifts, softens, opens. He falls backwards into waiting hands, weathered and browned by the sun. A now familiar face appears, welcoming him with a crooked smile. Eyes the color of deep forest pools crinkle with laughter, and a voice like the wind behind a rain storm whispers to him of rest. Wispy tendrils take root, bury deep into Sherlock’s skin, encase his heart in a latticework of supple wood. Together, they are timeless and still while the world spins on around them.

Sherlock wakes with the sound of birdsong in his ears. He stretches and yawns, ignoring the odd looks of early morning passers-by, pressing his back against the sturdy, ancient beech.

 


End file.
